


The Swindle

by ConceptaDecency



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Cardassian Culture, Humor, Humour, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Cardassia, married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 19:09:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20019571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConceptaDecency/pseuds/ConceptaDecency
Summary: Cardassia is not always welcoming to its Federation helpers. Garak tries to smooth its rough edges.





	The Swindle

“They’re very good _bvak_ , sir. Fresh and juicy. They were still on the vine this morning.” The greengrocer tilted the tray of pink crescent-shaped fruit slices towards Garak, inviting him to sample one. “If sir would like to taste?”

“They don’t look ripe.” Garak took satisfaction in the surprise on the man’s face. Even on the new Cardassia, only a few members of the service classes had made it into leadership positions, and his Service-Class Dialect, when he chose to employ it, clashed with his austere council robes quite unexpectedly. Surprise was a useful tool, and one he intended to take full advantage of as long as he could. 

“Very ripe, sir! If sir will take a sample..." The man switched to Service-Class Dialect himself, but maintained a subservient manner of address in deference to Garak's superior social position. 

Garak cut him off. "To be honest, I was looking for something a little sweeter. Do you have any _kana_?”

"It isn't _kana_ season yet, sir." The greengrocer looked at him curiously. The very season, _zaKana_ , took its name from the fruit, and that was a full two months away. Any Cardassian of reasoning age knew that. 

"Isn't it? I suppose you're right." A sigh. A pause. "And yet you sold my husband half a dozen _kana_ yesterday."

"Sir? I'm sure I didn't, sir." Genuine confusion.

"No? Isn't this Ipik's?" Garak made a show of stepping back into the bustle of the market and squinting at the sign above their heads.

"Yes, sir, I'm Ipik. But I assure sir..."

"He's tall," Garak raised his hand above his head. "And slim. About your age. No? Brownish green eyes? It's an unusual colour. You don't recall serving him?"

"No, sir. Perhaps sir's husband visited another stall?" Ipik swept his hand broadly to indicate his competitors up and down the narrow market lane. 

“No, I’m quite certain it was this one.” Garak rummaged in his shoulder bag and withdrew a small paper sack, a little crumpled, _Ipiks Finest Fruit’s and Vegetable’s_ stamped on the side. He uncurled the top to reveal the dark, wrinkled fruit within, desiccated and unappealing, clearly last year's harvest. 

"But...those are the _kana_ I sold to the _Federaji_. How did sir's husband come to acquire them?"

Garak gave Ipik his coolest, clearest gaze. "As I said, he bought them yesterday. And they must be the finest fruit in the Union, because I've never heard of anyone paying twelve _vovov_ for six _kana_. Small _kana_ , too. I imagine, at that price, they must be simply exquisite."

Ipik's mouth dropped open. "The Bajoran is your husband?" Forgetting himself in his shock, he addressed Garak directly, then inhaled sharply at the discourtesy he'd just displayed. Garak noted the low-level panic behind the man's eyes and took a measure of pride in it. 

"Human, actually," he said, smiling, in a silky I'm-no-threat tone. "They're quite a different species, you know." 

"Of course, sir." Ipik lowered his eyes. "No disrespect meant to sir or sir's husband. It's just that they rather look the same, sir. Bajorans and humans."

Garak chose to ignore the man's 'hole-digging', as Julian might have put it. Ipik didn't even know what he was saying, so where was the fun in tormenting him about _that_? 

"Indeed. Now, Mr Ipik, these _kana_. I must say I was surprised when my husband brought them home, and more so when he told me what he'd paid. We're simple people, you see, and unused to such decadent things as two- _vovov kana_ fruit! Can you imagine, me, the son of a housekeeper, feasting on premium fruit like a legate!" Garak gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "Especially in these difficult times, when every child of Cardassia must be thinking of the greater good, and not their own selfish needs. My Julian -- my husband's name is Julian -- was quite appalled when he realised how much he'd spent."

"A refund can be arranged, sir, immediately." Eyes still lowered, Ipik began the necessary tapping on his PADD.

"Excellent, thank you _so_ much. My husband and his people are absolutely dreadful with money. You can tell them a hundred times what something costs and they still won't appreciate the value of a _vov_. But what do you expect, coming from a moneyless society? Not that they aren't absolutely brilliant in their own fields." Garak pressed his thumb to the proffered PADD, completing the refund, but did not pause in his chatter. "My Julian has saved countless Cardassian lives -- he's a doctor, you see -- and of course there wouldn't be even half the produce you've got here in your lovely establishment if not for the efforts of the Federation relief teams. Ah, here you are." A vibration from the PADD gave proof of the transaction having gone through, and Garak passed the sack of _kana_ over the counter to the greengrocer. 

"Thank you, sir." Ipik held the sack in both hands, clenching and unclenching, crumpling the paper even more. A queue had started to form behind Garak, made up mostly of local workers doing their shopping on their lunch breaks, craning their necks to see what the holdup at the front was.

"Thank _you_. It's been a pleasure doing business with an honest man such as yourself." Garak leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. "You wouldn't believe how often my husband and his colleagues have been overcharged or even outright swindled by unscrupulous shopkeepers. As if the work they were doing wasn't essential to the good of Cardassia. Why, last week a friend of my Julian's, Doctor Al-Ghamdi, was sold a weight of _graniss_ root so tough it was inedible. And at four times the market price!" Garak widened his eyes as if in dismay. "Can you imagine? It was in this very marketplace, although I’m sure I don't know which stall. Ah, perhaps you know. I’m sure you've seen Doctor Al-Ghamdi around. She's hard to miss. Human as well. Short, like so, and a round head? Very short, dark hair?"

"Yes, sir, I know the lady, sir." Ipik shifted uncomfortably. The queue was getting longer.

"That _is_ wonderful. You're very fortunate to know Doctor Al-Ghamdi. She's a brilliant doctor. One of the first _Federaji_ doctors on Cardassia, did you know? Immediately after the Fire, when we were still pulling ourselves out of the rubble. She led the _maboo_ fever research team, in fact. Who knows how many more Cardassians would have died if not for her? Especially children."

"I wasn't aware of her accomplishments, sir." Ipik glanced up. One or two customers had left the queue, preferring to buy their produce at another stall so that they would not be late back from their breaks. Being Cardassians, used to and craving order, they took care to replace their fruit and vegetables in the correct bins. 

"Yes, her value to the Cardassian people is immeasurable. And what's more, she was telling me only yesterday that she was considering extending her assignment by another year. She has a partner and grown children on Earth whom she only sees infrequently, but for some reason she’s loathe to leave her work here on Cardassia. It’s baffling, isn’t it, this _Federaji_ willingness to sacrifice so much for a people not even their own?” Garak clucked his tongue. “Seven years living among them and two years married to one and I still don’t fully understand their motivations. But I suppose _my_ humble understanding isn’t really important, is it?”

“I...suppose not, sir.” Ipik twisted his neck uncomfortably. 

“No, no,” Garak continued. “What’s really important is that another year of work is likely all that’s needed to implement a workable vaccination programme for the children who sadly missed theirs the last three years. Or so Julian and Doctor Al-Ghamdi tell me. And of course our own Cardassian doctors are excellent, but terribly overstretched, and besides, Al-Ghamdi is the mastermind behind this particular programme. If we lost her it’d mean a setback of at least half a year. You can imagine the loss of life in half a year. We can only hope that she chooses to stay."

"We can only hope, sir.” 

“I’m sure you agree that it's extremely important that personnel like Doctor Al-Ghamdi be encouraged to view Cardassia as a home, even temporarily. Which is why it's so very aggravating to see our own people taking advantage of them!" Garak raised his eye ridges as if in disbelief. "Why, some might call it disloyalty to the state! Or would have called it that. In times past, of course."

Ipik swallowed. "Yes, sir. Times past." More customers had left the queue, though Ipik's eyes had stopped darting past Garak to check. 

"It's so odd to think about, isn't it? Such seditious actions would have warranted quite harsh punishments. Imprisonment. Dismemberment.” Garak wiggled the fingers of his right hand to indicate which body part might have been lost. “Public shaming. Even death, you know, in particularly egregious cases. Before." Garak chuckled and laid the same hand amiably on Ipik's forearm. "Not these days, Mr Ipik."

"Things have changed, sir." Ipik's tremble was barely discernible.

"They certainly have. These days, the harshest punishment would at most be a fine and a ban from trading for three days. For a first offence." Garak sighed. "An appropriate penalty, I suppose. But, you know, one sees people being taken advantage of simply for being off-worlders, and one thinks that perhaps there was something to admire about the efficiency of the old ways. You know what I mean. Making an example of somebody." He smiled and dug his fingers into the greengrocer's soft flesh. "At the moment, we need the _Federaji_ far, far more than they need us, and anything that discourages their continued presence harms all Cardassians. Perhaps if one errant shopkeeper were to lose their business, or perhaps their freedom, for a little while, the rest would take note."

"Perhaps, sir." Ipik's lower lip quivered.

"Not that I personally would be in favour of coming down _that_ harshly, of course, but some of my colleagues on the Council would like us to go back to how things were, you know. Even for the smallest infringements." Garak tilted his head and jerked it, a particularly Service-Class gesture that meant, roughly, _that's just the way it is, isn't it?_ "Politics is all about compromise, Mr Ipik. Especially these days, when everyone gets a say, it seems. It's really quite exhausting."

"Yes, sir."

"These dreadful little problems. They’re like fine sand under your scales, Mr Ipik. Minor but unbelievably irritating. In so many ways. I would _hate_ to be the first trader caught swindling Federation personnel outright." Garak removed his hand, but not without giving Ipik's forearm one last firm, lingering squeeze. "We Council members are supposed to be impartial, but we really are getting exasperated. You wouldn't believe the amount of ire building up amongst us. That person might find themselves in a _very_ unpleasant position, while the Council decide what should be done." 

"I can imagine, sir." There was no direct translation into Kardasi for the evocative Federation Standard verb ‘to blanch’, at least not as it applied to a person’s face, but if Garak ever did choose to disclose this part of the exchange to Julian, that might be the word he would use to describe Ipik’s reaction. 

Garak plastered a smarmy, toothless smile across his face. "It would be so much more pleasant for everyone if this unsavoury activity just stopped altogether. Went away on its own, I mean to say. Then my colleagues wouldn't have to squander their valuable time and energy dealing with it. In fact," Garak's eyes brightened, as if a fantastic notion had just occurred to him. "If, miraculously, we heard no more complaints from Federation personnel, I'd wager the Council would forget about the problem altogether."

"Indeed, sir?” Ipik gulped as if he was swallowing one of his _bvak_ fruit whole.

"Oh, call us unprofessional, or even lazy, Mr Ipik, but we're fallible like everyone else, and there are only twenty-two hours in the day. And speaking of which," Garak made a show of looking around the market, which, now that the traditional office lunch hour was drawing to a close, had quieted significantly. Some of the shopkeepers were beginning to close their stalls in preparation for their own lunch breaks. "I really must be going. I had no idea so much time had passed while we were chatting." Indeed, only one person remained in the queue behind Garak, a tiny, wiry, white-haired old woman, face inscrutable and arms laden with what looked like the week's shopping. "I'm so sorry to have kept you, madam." He moved aside so the woman could place her things on the counter.

She smiled but did not step forward. “Not at all, Councillor,” replied the woman in Service-Class Dialect. She observed intermediate terms of respect, as, given Garak's position and her advanced age, they were more or less on equal footing. “It’s so important to converse with our neighbours, isn’t it?” 

Garak returned the smile. “That it is, madam. How else are we to know them?” It was a traditional Service-Class exchange. So traditional as to be somewhat dying out these days. 

“We must speak to understand. My daughter would have said so too.” She paused. “Your esteemed doctor-husband, has he taken you to the Earth continent of Asia?”

Garak didn’t let the surprise show on his face. “I’m afraid he has not, madam.” 

“That’s a pity.” She shifted the large gourd on her hip to a more secure position. “My daughter quite loved it. When she lived there with her human husband. She said she was treated very well by the people, and I hope she wasn't just humouring her old mother." 

"One would hope not, madam," said Garak. "But I, personally, have found humans to be quite an accepting species."

"Yes," said the woman. "One would hope not. The other grandparents have been quite accepting of the children, since my daughter and her husband died in the war. Thank the guls, since they have so much more on Earth than their cousins have here." Neither she nor Garak acknowledged how such a statement would have been unacceptable to utter in public until very recently. 

"Cardassia mourns your family's loss," said Garak, and all three, Garak, the old woman, and Ipik, were silent for a breath, observing a ritual everyone was far too accustomed to these days. 

“And may Cardassia bless your union with plenitude, Councillor, to better serve her,” said the old woman, after the moment had passed. “We hope your doctor-husband continues to find fulfilment here." 

"As do we, madam, thank you.”

The woman nodded, then turned to the greengrocer. "Do you know, Mr Ipik, I've just realised the time. I'm sure you'd like to have your lunch, so I won't put you out by having you ring me up." Swiftly, for someone so elderly, she unloaded her armload of fruit and vegetables onto the counter, tutting at Ipik's protests that no, he was happy to postpone his lunch, madam, really. Her arms free, she bowed in polite farewell. “I do thank you, Mr Ipik. I’ll be sure to tell my friends and neighbours about your thoughtfulness and community-mindedness." She bowed again and scuttled away down the empty, echoing market lane. 

Garak raised his eyeridges at Ipik, whose arms were hanging, limp and defeated, from his drooping shoulders. "Well," Garak said blandly. "Perhaps I'll take some of those _bvak_ after all, Mr Ipik. If you can spare the time."

**Author's Note:**

>  _Kana_ are of course the fruit that kanar is made from. They're quite delicious in their own right, too.
> 
> I really love your kudos and comments! They keep me going.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr too, if you're into that. I'm ConceptaDecency there, too.


End file.
